


Other Than Soup

by saltfire_asura



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Freeform, Gen, i guess there's a hint of petrigrof dunno why i tagged it, its called freeform for a reason, its mostly marceline being an angel, no but seriously, simon doesnt have the crown, the crown doesn’t exist man, yah know thought id put it here bc why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltfire_asura/pseuds/saltfire_asura
Summary: Even years after the bombs dropped, canned soup was still very much in surplus. How this benefited a mismatched family in their fight to survive the devastated world they were left behind in. (Written for mosobot64 for #ATSecretSanta on Tumblr)





	

They didn’t go outside very often anymore. Simon and Betty were getting old, and they couldn’t fight against whatever could lurk beyond the barbed wire gates anymore. They’re lucky that young Marceline was able to look after herself, able to provide for them after she turned 18. She had lived her entire life so far in the midst of the wreckage of the war, so it made sense that she had adapted quicker to this way of life than her guardians. At least food and water wasn’t too much of an issue. The water-plant still worked, it must’ve, if the taps were still able to protrude water. Simon worried about how long that was going to last, however.

Food, was harder than turning a tap. Food was what Marceline would have to scavenge for almost every day in order to keep the pantry in the run-down kitchen at home full. At least it wasn’t _too_ much of a hassle when Marceline had the ability to fly. She picked that ability off some vampire named, _The Fool_. He truly was a fool, not being able to evade a mortal carrying nothing but one, small wooden stake. Besides the odd couple of goo monsters, Marceline was almost always able to raid the _Soupery_ , an abandoned soup-store abundant in canned, liquid goods. She’d always find at least six cans to bring home for Betty to cook.

 

* * *

 

Christmas time. Or, at least it would be if anyone kept track of holidays anymore. To Simon, Betty and Marceline, it was known as the _colder time_. It was almost always cold, the thick overcast blocking out majority of light and heat. The survivors didn’t need their side of the world to be further away from the sun to make the weather even colder. And it was depressing, too. No one wanted to do anything during those months. At least the house they crashed in had a gas stove and at least fifty gas tanks in the basement.

“Simon! Betty!” Marceline exclaimed, “I found a supermarket about thirty yards past the Soupery!” She placed the woven bag she found in said supermarket on the rounded table. “I found so many things in there, I wish I could’ve brought them all,” she added excitedly. Betty looked through the bag filled with assorted items from the supermarket, and recognised them all. She pulled out three different fruits, a jar of strawberry jam, a chocolate bar and some stale bread, along with the cans of soup that Marceline usually yielded from her scouts. “This is brilliant,” Simon implored with amazement. It had been a long, _long_ time since he had seen anything other than canned soup. Not that he was complaining about it.

“I also found a bunch of oval shaped things, but they kept breaking,” Marceline blurted. Betty turned to Simon, “They’re eggs, right?” Simon nodded in response, and repeated what his forever-fiancé said, “They would’ve been eggs.”

 

* * *

 

 

The stove was alight, and the soup poured into the big industrial pot Marceline had found four years ago was brought to the boil. “What do you do with eggs, Simon?” Marceline asked him. He scratched his chin, trying to remember the last time he used eggs in something. Then he remembered, “Betty would make cakes out of eggs… and a few other things.”  
“What’s a cake?” Marceline pressed on. She always liked learning new things about the past. From what her guardians told her, the past must have been great. “A cake is like the bread you found, but decorated with icing sugar and chocolate and flavours,” this time Betty was answering. She was a good cook, it was one of her passions beside science, one of the many interests she and Simon shared. “Do you always need eggs to make cakes?” Marceline asked again. Betty shook her head, “Of course not, you can make cakes out of almost any sweet food. Or savoury, if you like that.” Marceline asked more questions about the foodstuffs she found and saw.

So an idea popped into Marceline’s head. She had chocolate, which Betty had said could be melted into a liquid. She had bread, which was like a cake. She had strawberry jam, which Simon said with a heavy nostalgia that it was used to spread on bread and toast (which she was sure was just double-cooked bread). And she had an orange, a strawberry and a banana, which they both said were healthy fruits that could also be eaten. She had everything for her idea.

After a dinner of soup, Betty and Simon retired to the lounge. Sometimes the electricity worked, sometimes it didn’t. Maybe the local radio station would still be broadcasting? It didn’t matter, with them out of the kitchen, Marceline could work her magic.

She took one slice of bread from the packet and laid it on the spare chopping board. Her small chunk of chocolate was just starting to melt. Marceline took out one of the blunt knives from the drawer and spread the jam on the first slice bread, exactly as Simon had described to. She got another slice and pressed it onto the first, jam covered slice. The chocolate was ready to be poured. She carefully covered the second slice in melted chocolate. Another slice of bread, another layer of jam. Her fourth and final layer of bread was carefully put onto the third. Marceline took great care in covering not only the top, but the sides of her stumpy bread-tower in melted chocolate. Then, for the finishing touch, Marceline decorated the top with butchered chunks of fruits.

“Simon! Betty! Come here!”

The radio was working for once, there was music. Simon was almost scared to leave it alone, but Betty dragged him to the kitchen as soon as Marceline called for them. What they saw stopped them dead in their tracks. “I made a cake! Do-do you like it?” Marceline beamed, albeit her speech was cautious. Simon and Betty weren’t saying anything. Do they like it?  
Betty rushed to envelop Marceline in the world’s motherliest hug. She leant back and held Marceline’s face, “I-I love it. It’s beautiful, Marcy.” Marceline smiled proudly. They _do_ love it.  
“Come on, we’ll eat it by the radio,” Simon suggested eagerly. Marceline’s face brightened at the mention of the radio. She skipped to her favourite spot on the couch, waiting only just a moment for Betty to bring her greatest creation to the coffee table.

 

* * *

 

 

In the past, one might’ve said it was a Christmas Miracle or something like that. But Christmas was lost, so instead, these three survivors came to think of it as something that made the _colder time_ almost not cold. Or sad. Perhaps it was a miracle after all.


End file.
